Shadow From the East
by SauronsHeir
Summary: A new menace has risen after the fall of Mordor, and it is up to the Men of the West to stop it. Burzum, chief of the Olog-Hai and commander of the Morannon, has gathered allies from across Middle-Earth to challenge the forces of good.
1. Prologue

*Author's note: This story will be changing perspectives between the protagonist, Berethor, and the antagonist, Burzum, quite a bit. It might get confusing at times, so please pay attention to who is mentioned in each paragraph.

Twenty years after the fall of Mordor, peace had fallen over the lands of Middle-Earth. The Elves were long gone, having returned to the undying lands, and the Dwarves had managed to get back the Kingdoms of Moria and Erebor. The orcs of the Misty Mountains and outlying areas were driven back into Mirkwood. Rohan and Gondor had long recovered from the wars with Saruman and Sauron. Eomer became the new king of Rohan. Faramir and his wife, Eowyn, became lords of a partially rebuilt Osgiliath. Aragorn and Arwen ruled over much of the western human kingdoms. The Ents returned to their peaceful lives, and vowed to never fight again. The only thing that still menaced the free peoples of middle-earth was occasional raids from the men of Harad and the soldiers of Rhûn. Unbeknownst to them, however, an evil lurked in the outskirts of Mordor, one that the beings would have never expected.

The lord of Udûn has come: Burzum, chief of the Olog-Hai.


	2. A Disturbance

Darkness had descended across the land, signaling the beginning of the night. A storm seemed to have come from the skies, as if signaling something ominous. Berethor was restless. His tired, war-worn face, with its heavy brow and greying beard, showed his weariness and fear of things outside of his control. Though the war was won against Sauron, he and the people of Minas Tirith knew that evil cannot, nor could it ever, be purged from these lands. However, it wasn't solely that; he sensed something ominous from the east_. 'Perhaps I am simply paranoid,'_ Berethor thought to himself, stroking his chin_. 'After all, I have just come back from fighting off the thralls of Harad.'_ Suddenly, Morwen appeared from behind Berethor and placed her hand on his back.

"Is everything alright?" The former shield maiden asked, her hair sagging down her shoulders.

"Yes," Berethor replied. "I'll be coming to bed shortly."

Morwen nods and soon heads back to their room, leaving her husband to stare off into the distance...

Far off in the mountains of Mordor, a large, imposing being watched over his army of orcs. His appearance was certainly a fearful sight to behold: a menacing helm covered his sparcely haired cranium, and thick plates covered his back and chest. A blade forged from blackened iron was grasped in his hand, spiked and jagged. An orc captain, clad in black armor, soon approached his lord, bowing before him and glancing up into his master's eyes. Shortly afterwards, he spoke. "My lord, we have amassed as many orcs as we could. We called out for our brethren from Mount Gundabad to Mirkwood forest."

"And how many orcs have joined us?" the being inquired, yellowed eyes looking upon his left hand man.

"Our army has grown to be 10,000 strong, sir."

"And how many trolls have you found?" The being seemed to be irritated, but kept himself calm for now.

"Only twenty as of now, my lord."

"That is not enough!" the being shouted, bashing the captain with his hand and sending the pitiful creature headfirst into the floor. "There MUST be more!"

His lord's fury was something to be feared. The commander's body was sprawled across the ground, shaking with raw terror. The monstrous creature let out a terrifying roar, before the orc managed to stammer out, "But Lord Burzum: there is no one left! Who will join us?"

Burzum paused at this. He pondered for a few moments, before a thought struck him. A malicious smirk spread across Burzum's face, his yellowed fangs piercing through his already toothy grin. He glanced down at his captain's petrified face.

"The Castellans… yes, the protectors of Dol Guldur. They have stayed there, even after Sauron's departure so many years before! If we manage to convince them to join our cause, our armies will be all but unstoppable!"

"Th-that sounds like a good idea," the orc captain said sheepishly. He had already angered his master once, and had no intentions of doing it again.

"Yes, yes… now go get them."

"Of course, my lord." The orc nods.

"NOW!" Burzum yells.

The orc turned tail and left his master's location, before he mounted his warg and began to leave. He was soon joined by others before he disappeared from sight. Twin jets of air blasted out of Burzum's nostrils as he watched his commander left his vision range.

"Soon… Middle Earth will be driven before me, and they will know true fear!" Burzum said to himself before chuckling aloud...


	3. The Nightmare Assembles

It was as if Berethor had had a horrid nightmare. He awoke in the middle of the night on the floor, clammy and sweaty, and twitching violently. All he wanted to do was to scream, but he felt that he couldn't move… it was as if the spirit of the dark lord himself had possessed Berethor in the night and tormented him, forcing him into a state worse than death itself. Soon, however, Berethor had passed out cold. The next morning, he remembers waking up, lying on their bed. Morwen was sitting beside his exhausted form, attempting to wake him. He looked upon himself, a blanket stretched over his form, and the smell of stew cooking in a pot filled his nostrils.

"Ah, you are awake finally," Morwen said. Berethor blinked his eyes a couple times before yawning.

"What happened?" he asked groggily.

"I was going to ask the same thing to you," Morwen said. "I found you on the floor in the morning, and you were talking about something in your sleep…"

"I… I don't remember anything," Berethor replied. "All I recall was this terrible feeling, like something had taken me over and I remember having the most terrifying nightmare."

"What went on in this nightmare, Berethor?" Morwen remembered that, after they had defeated the Witch-King with Eowyn, he had reoccurring nightmares, as well. This time, however, there was no catalyst to this occurrence.

"I don't remember that either…" Berethor grumbled in a frustrated manner. Morwen rubbed his head.

"Well, I'm making you some stew right now. Get some rest, and you should start to feel a little bit better."

"Thank you, Morwen."

"No problem, Berethor. Now, just relax." She gave Berethor a kiss on the forehead before exiting. _'Thank god for that woman,'_ Berethor thought to himself. _'Heaven knows I'd be dead if I didn't have her in my life. She reminds me of Idrial…'_

Berethor sighed as he remembers his elf friend. He didn't even get to say goodbye to her before she departed to the undying lands. But he knew that she, just like him, would always hold him close to her heart…

Berethor yawned before he fell asleep again…

The orc captain had managed to cover a surprising amount of ground over the night. As the sun rose over the horizon, he had managed to enter Mirkwood with his troop of Warg riders.

"Stay close to me," the commander hissed. "Even without Sauron's influence, this place is dangerous."

The orcs nod and keep the blades readied. The wargs growled as something moved in the bushes. It was as if something was watching them, waiting to claim its prey…

Thankfully, they managed the reach Dol Guldur with little trouble, save for some difficulties travelling uphill. The fortification was in ruins; the gate had been smashed down by… something, and the walls were heavily dilapidated. Approaching with extreme caution, the orcs marched into the tattered gate. The whistling of the wind was the only noise within those silent halls. The tapping of their heavy iron boots echoed through the dark hallways and eerie catwalks. It gave an ominous sense of dread, and inflicted heavy damage to the already cowardly orcs' morale. Suddenly, a moan. It came from the right hall.

The orc captain drew his blackened scimitar and readied his shield, before snarling, "Draw your weapons, maggots! We're not alone!"

The rabble soon drew their own weapons, ranging from axes and swords to hammers and scythes. A shadowy figure was visibly moving on the other side of the hall, hisses and groans audible from it. Soon, it turned and showed its true form: an armored being, similar in nature to a Nazgul, being but an empty shell of a creature compared to what it once was. It soon began to approach the orcs.

"Come no closer!" the commander shouts, obviously terrified, but nonetheless standing his ground for his fellow orcs to follow his example. However, the being did not stop in the slightest; no, it wasn't even fazed by the threat. Instead, it drew its foul blade, one which glistened with an ethereal beauty; a sickly greenish glow it was, reminding the mortified orcs of their former leaders, the Nazgul.

"I warn you- come no closer!" the commander chokes out, his arms quaking with terror. Soon, the menace is upon them.

The being struck, swinging his blade downward towards the hapless commander. Thankfully, his cold iron locks with the morgul blade, sparks flying from the blow. The orc locked eyes with the Castellan's glowing red gaze.

"_What brings you here, mortal?" _The wraith croaks. _"Why have you come?"_

The commander, and the rest of his band, was surprised. It came as no surprise that it was sapient- after all, the Witch-King served as their field marshal during the siege of Minas Tirith. It was more of the fact that a lesser wraith was able to speak- one with little to no power, save for his aura of terror.

"We c-come from Mordor," the commander said meekly. "L-lord Burzum has requested your allegiance."

"_LIES," _the Castellan snarled, his blade pushing harder against the orc's own blade. "_Sauron has fallen, and it has been so for more than twenty cycles. What makes ME believe that one of his lieutenants has come to ask of our allegiance?"_

"Here, l-let me show you, spawn of our fallen lord," the orc shakily requested. Surprisingly, the Castellan backed down. The orc pulled out a scroll written by Lord Burzum himself. It was written in the Black Speech; a language no one other than an agent of Mordor knew.

"H-here," the commander said. "R-read it."

The Castellan snatched it out of the orcs' hand, and read the scroll hastily. He soon casted it aside, before kneeling in front of the commander. Soon, other Castellans emerged from the halls, and they all bowed before the orc and his band.

"_We shall fight for Burzum,"_ The lead Castellan said. _"We shall avenge our lord."_

The orc commander smiled. Burzum would be pleased.


	4. Revelations

Author's note: the next few chapters will be taking place from the perspective of Berethor. Bear that in mind.

The nightmares seemed unending these days. Even then, as Berethor rested upon his bed, so exhausted that his mind could barely think straight, his mind was plagued by these terrors from the night. Terror gripped his mind, and, just as he remembered, a nameless horror from beyond his comprehension seemed to possess his body and prevent him from relaxation. Unlike before, however, Berethor remembered this dream…

It began within a dark, ominous, with a glossy tiled floor and walls that crawled with an almost organic appearance. Before him sat a throne, blazing in ethereal light and towering like the spire of Barad-Dur itself. Upon the throne sat a lone figure, garbed in a simple black robe, and a crown wreathed in flame. His eyes glowed like two fiery torches, and they seemed to peer into his very soul.

"_You have… disappointed me, Berethor,"_ the being croaked.

That voice… where had he heard it before? It sounded like someone he had met long ago. A distant memory… who was it?

"_You failed to become what you were meant to..."_ The man upon the throne seemingly leaped to his feet. He strode towards Berethor, proud and haughty, like that of a king. Soon, the man was upon him.

Berethor's head began to hurt. This feeling… it was so familiar! But who was it? What was this demon that stood before him?

"W-who are you? What do you want?" Berethor shouted, staring into the eyes of the demonic entity. Suddenly, Berethor was thrown to the ground by an unseen force, and began to feel helpless. He struggled to get back to his feet, but soon found he was unable to move. The being reached down and grabbed Berethor by the throat, lifting up to stare into his blazing, soulless eyes.

"_I am surprised you do not recognize the wraith, whom gave you your scar…"_ The being sneered. He placed his hand upon Berethor's chest. A searing pain was felt on Berethor's chest, right near where his heart would be. Of course! How stupid he was. There was only one being who knew him this well and served Sauron. It was-

"Th-the Witch King?" Berethor stammers out, horrified.

An ominous chuckled emanates from the Witch-King's hood. _"You fool. Did you really think that I was destroyed? No… my master may have been slain, but my soul remains. The other ringwraiths were fools to truly fall for Sauron's lies of immortality. But I- I had a trick up my sleeve in the event of my demise. I placed my energies elsewhere, and dispersed them amongst Sauron's Lieutenants. Most of them are dead by now, but one still remains…"_

The Witch-King drops Berethor's dream avatar to the floor, shaking his head at the pitiful Gondorian.

"And you plan to use him as your puppet, don't you?" Berethor snarls. "You'll use him until you become powerful enough to possess him, and then you'll try and conquer Middle-Earth!"

"_You learn quickly, Berethor,"_ the Witch-King snarls. _"Your time fighting alongside Gandalf and Idrial has opened your eyes to reality. Such a pity you did not join me when you had the chance."_

The Witch-King's gaze locks again with Berethor's. _"Your fate… will be one of great suffering."_

"W-what do you mean?" Berethor inquired, frightened beyond his wit's end.

"_Here…. Let me SHOW you."_

Shadows surround themselves Berethor, as he is swallowed into the prophecy…

Berethor find himself within Minas Tirith. However, the city was not right. Orcs had stormed the citadel. All the buildings within were in ruins. It was like the siege all over again! The only difference this time was… they seemed to have achieved victory. Suddenly, he saw Morwen. He tried to shout and run towards her, but he couldn't. Soon, orcs swarmed over her, blades raised, and she was hacked at brutally, blood dripping from her battered body. Her head was sliced clean off of its shoulders and sent rolling down the street. Berethor once again tries to shout, but nothing seems to come out. Atop the city, orcs had pillaged and looted the throne of Gondor. He saw Aragorn's and Arwen's corpses fall from the tallest spire of the city, falling hundreds of feet before disappearing into the Pelennor Fields below. Suddenly, Berethor felt himself being shoved to the floor by a large, imposing being, with glistening yellow eyes. He managed to flip himself face-up, only for a large, armor-clad foot to crash down on his chest.

"W-who are you?" Berethor yells in fear.

"I am… Burzum," the giant replies. "And I continue what Sauron could not complete!"

A huge, iron blade soon came over Berethor's head, and, the sword was just as suddenly brought down upon him…

Berethor awoke, screaming in raw terror. Morwen soon rushed to Berethor's side, trying to soothe him.

"It's okay, Berethor… I'm here, I'm here…" Morwen herself was not good at soothing people, but she wanted Berethor's horrid dreams to end.

"I… I remember them now…" Berethor said, quaking with fear. "It was… it was him… the lord of the Nazgul!"

"What?" Morwen asked.

"The Witch-King… he's been plaguing my dreams and he has a puppet under his command! He plans on taking Middle-Earth for himself, and has the resources to do it!"

"But how? He has been dead for twenty years?" Morwen asked.

"I… I don't know," Berethor said. "But we MUST warn Aragorn. We cannot allow him to get the jump on Osgiliath and have an easy road to Minas Tirith."

Morwen nods.

"I am unsure if your dreams are something that could be trusted, but, considering the Witch-King had poisoned you at one point, perhaps you and him are tied together somehow…"

Berethor said, "Let me get dressed and we shall go to Aragorn and Arwen."

Morwen nods and waits for Berethor to garb himself in his simply clothes. Once he is finished, the two head to the Throne of Gondor to tell Aragorn and Arwen the disturbing news…


End file.
